


The Swinger

by fuck_me_barnes, intrinsicklutz



Series: Long Time [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bonus Content, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Classic Cars, Good Old Fashioned Car Makeouts, M/M, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Sloppy Makeouts, This Is Not An Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuck_me_barnes/pseuds/fuck_me_barnes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrinsicklutz/pseuds/intrinsicklutz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little ficlet set in the Long Time 'verse, a little gift for you to unwrap.</p><p>Happy holidays!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Swinger

“Lookit that moon, Stevie.“  Buck pointed with his left arm, and the moonlight gleamed brightly off of the metal panels. He and Steve were pressed up together on the hood of the ‘73 Dodge Swinger, mostly restored now, restored enough at least that Bucky felt a swell of pride driving it around town. It wasn’t a small car by any means, but two super soldiers had no problem filling up the available space. Now they were sitting on it, out in the cool night air.

“First full moon on Christmas in 38 years,” Steve replied, tilting his chin up so the moonlight hit his face full. Buck leaned up and placed a kiss on his jawline, because he could. His right arm was losing feeling, squished up against Steve’s solid ribcage and tucked under Steve’s heavy arm, but he didn’t plan on moving. Steve hummed happily.  

“Looked it up,” Buck murmured. “The one before that was in 1920.”

“Yeah?” Steve turned, smile spreading across his across his face. “You remember it?“  

"No, punk. I was  _three_ ,” Barnes rolled his eyes. “But…I dunno. Thought it was nice. Something else old as us."  

"Moon’s older than us by a little,” Steve pointed out helpfully. 90-something years and his innocent face still hadn’t changed: mostly sincere, slightly smug. He’d been in love with that damn face for as long as he’d known it. He loved it even when he kind of wanted to punch it, like now. 

“Shuddup. You’re the worst, you know that? All those history books painting you like a saint, ignoring the fact you’re a little shit. Can’t believe none of the fellas spilled on that.”   

“Big shit now,” A smirk broke the illusion and Bucky groaned. He knocked Steve half-heartedly with his shoulder.  

“Get off my car, ya giant jerk. Patriotic pain-in-the-ass.” Steve didn’t look particularly patriotic at the moment. He looked like a dream in worn jeans and one of Bucky’s shirts from the local diner. It pulled tight on his chest as it was; he thought that Steve might rip the damn thing when he pulled it on. Not that he’d tried to stop him. Never did any good, tryin’ to stop Steve Rogers.  

“You really want me to leave?” Steve moved to lift his arm off Buck’s shoulders, but he snagged Steve’s wrist with his metal hand and held his arm firmly in place.  

“Not even a little." 

This time, Steve leaned in and kissed him proper, leaving him a little breathless, a little hard. "Good. I don’ wanna leave either."  

"Stevie…” Buck breathed out. He still wasn’t used to it, having him back beside him, being able to reach out and touch him and be touched and having it not hurt. 

“Look at that moon, Buck,” Steve whispered against his lips, definitely not looking at the sky. “Full on Christmas. Just for us."  

”’s what I brought you out here to see,“ Bucky smiled. He inhaled, the scent of fresh air and cornfields and Steve. "Merry Christmas, Stevie Doll.”

“I didn’t bring you a present,” Steve murmurs as he keeps kissing on him, his lips, his jaw, nosing down onto his neck, giving him the shivers, even though it ain’t cold out, not even a little bit. “Unseasonable warmth”, the weatherman had said, something about El Niño and global warming, but Buck thinks it’s maybe just Steve, shining like the sun, leaching the chill from his bones at last.

“Used to be, I’d at least give you half my orange on Christmas Day,” Bucky manages with a little gasp, thinking about the peaches in the bowl in the trailer, bought at the Five Star Supermarket ten miles down the road. They weren’t as good as the ones he’d gotten from the orchard, but they’d do for now. Maybe he’d give one to Steve when they got back.

Against his throat, Steve chuckles. “Half, my ass. You’d keep givin’ me pieces till the whole damn thing was gone, telling me I was still eating my half.” He’s right, Bucky knows. It had been the best way to do it - let him think he was taking less than he deserved so he’d take any at all. 

He’d figured Steve needed it more than he did, the vitamin C and the extra nourishment. Bucky’d been happy with just the lingering scent of the orange oil on his hands, smelling like summertime in the dead of winter. A promise that it’d get warm again, the hope that things would get better. His da would cuss him out for giving away the only gift the Barnes family could afford all year, his ma would give a little smile and roll her eyes at her son’s generosity, but the orange would mean that Steve might make it another long winter, so Buck did it every year as long as he’d known him, right up to - right until -

“Where’d you go, huh?” Steve’s teeth nip at the sensitive spot right behind his jaw, under his ear, making him break out into gooseflesh, and he’s pulled back into the present again, the warm weight of Steve pressed against him, the windshield of the Swinger against his back. Bucky’s filled with a love so sudden and strong he doesn’t know whether to weep or to laugh with it. 

“I ain’t never left you, doll,” he whispers voice breaking, and it’s the truth. Even the cryo, the drugs, the wipes, none of that could have ever taken Steven Grant Rogers from him, not for long, anyhow. “Just - ‘m thinkin’ you’re the best gift I coulda asked for, hand to God.”

Steve hums, “Think I can do better than that,” and in one quick motion he’s straddling Bucky, pushing him back against the hood of the car, and they’re making out like a couple of horny teenagers again, passionate and clumsy. “Sorry, am I blocking your view?” he asks Bucky when they both come up for air, panting. Steve’s flushed all the way down his neck, his lips a little swollen, and he looks like a God damned dream. He can feel how hard he is pressed up against him like that, even through their jeans.

Bucky scowls. “I ain’t takin’ your bait, Rogers.”

A confused, goofy grin breaks across Steve’s face. “My _bait_ -”

“Christ Jesus. I know my _lines_ , this is the part where I’m s’posed to say how you’re the only heavenly body that _I_ want to see tonight -”

“Oh my God, you’re  _unbelievable_ ,” Steve bursts out, shocked, giggling.

“Unwrap your present, already, doll”, Bucky snorts out, tugging Steve’s hand down to his fly.

Smirking, he feigns astonishment, looking him dead in the eye: “What _is_ this - lump of coal, maybe - nah, maybe it’s a _birch switch_ -”

“What, you been naughty, Stevie?” Bucky snickers.

“Suppose I’m about to be,” he grins, and pulls the zipper of Bucky’s jeans down.

 

* * *

 

_(the ‘73 Swinger.)_


End file.
